A Monkey's Uncle
by Vicky Voltaire
Summary: Shere Khan takes his favorite nephew Simba out shopping. Simba learns about the jungle law and that life isn't black and white. Holiday theme. LK centric. Some Disneyverse.


Author notes: Written with a holiday twist but real life got in the way. I started in mid-December but I couldn't finish until now due to real life.

Characters: Simba (mainly)

Guests: Shere Khan, Pinocchio, Belle, Geppetto.

Synopsis: Holiday theme. Shere Khan takes his favorite nephew Simba out shopping. Simba learns about the jungle law.

* * *

><p>"Are you enjoying yourself, my dear boy?"<p>

"Oh, yes, uncle Khan! I am!" The boy beamed.

Simba gazed up excitedly. He could not believe that he had fulfilled his promise.

"This is what you wanted, yes?" The much older man looked down.

"It's beautiful!" Simba gasped.

The trees along the terrace were decorated with small bright lights. The atmosphere was festive. Carols and hot chocolate tickled the senses. Families walked along the crosswalk smiling and laughing. The smell of peppermint mocha swirled in the air. Makeshift snow fell along the boulevard. For the bargain hunter, shops tempted them with amazing deals.

It was Christmastime. More specifically, it was Christmastime at Daisy's Peach Orchard and Berry Patch. Families came here to spend time together and enjoy the live entertainment and Goofy's snow cones. Children took the opportunity to show their parents what they wanted for Christmas. There was something for everyone in the family, even jaded seventeen year olds who were too big for the hottest toy.

The popular toy this year was the new action figure or doll, depending on who you ask, from the new Norweigian pop duo, Arctic Rose. Shere Khan could not understand youth's obsession with the low brow trash they call 'music' these days. It was all just glorified button pushing.

Santa Claus greeted children and listened to their stories and demands with a patient smile.

It was an unusual looking pairing; the sophisticated and dignified mogul of Khan Industries walked along the stone pavement boulevard with a ten year old boy who circled around him. It was quite a sight to behold but no one dared to stand in there way or ask questions. Everyone gave them their space. Simba was the 'beloved prince' out on the stroll with someone who had enough money to run a small country.

No one would have believed that Shere Khan himself was here. However, he was not here due to personal choice. He was at this child friendly fantasyland because of Simba. It was done as a favor.

Back in August, his 'uncle', or rather, his aunt's current boy toy told him that if he maintained good grades in arithmetic, science, and the arts, his uncle would reward him for the holidays. He could choose an activity that they would both take part in.

"Anything?" Simba was surprised.

"Anything your little heart desires," the man said in a half growl, half-gentle tone.

"Before I ask, I gotta know. Why those subjects?" Simba queried.

"Arithmetic is the basis of all civilization. The pyramids and ruins were not built using magic."

"Okay, and what does science have to do with me?" Simba said with a raised brow.

"It exercises the brain and should you choose to master it, I have several openings for interns in premed."

"And art?"

"Numbers and rules should not define man. Inspiration does not come solely from monotonous concepts."

"Oh, okay."

Simba fulfilled his part of the bargain. He had gotten good grades on his subjects. His parents were pleased with his efforts. It was not that he was lazy. He was easily distracted and preferred more active classes. He enjoyed art but he never understood the meaning of what it meant to be 'inspired from within'. He drew whatever came into his little head. Some days it would be a sun. Other days it was a rhinoceros beetle. His favorite subject was a lion. He demonstrated aptitude when he drew one roaring under a sun.

"Impressive," his uncle said proudly.

As part of his part of the bargain, Shere Khan let his nephew choose the next destination of their outing. Simba wanted to visit Daisy's Berry Patch. Although he had no children of his own and had no desire to sire any, Shere Khan genuinely loved spending time with Simba. For one, it gave him closer proximity to the family secrets. He already had one connection. Scar could not resist an opportunity to undermine her brother, but even she was weary about revealing too much. She had to hold her bargaining chips carefully. At least with Simba, he would let something occasionally slip by accident. As clumsy as he was, he was a loveable little urchin. He had grown from an adorable cherub into an active little boy. He bounced Simba on his knee when he was a tot. When Mufasa saw how much Simba laughed as a little toddler when he saw his dear 'uncle', he could not hold it against him even if he disliked the man's personal politics and thought that he was too Draconian in his business practices. Sarabi, as a skilled huntress herself could see some of Shere Khan's views though she did not agree with his methods. It was through her encouraging of letting his sister have a break and let the man take the boy for some Christmas shopping that Mufasa relented.

"You should try this chili dog! It's really good!"

"Does your father mind your personal diet?" Shere Khan asked.

"Um, he doesn't like me eating junk food but aunt Scar lets me eat what I like." Simba replied.

"Hmmmm, really?"

"Well, sometimes she gets mad because I eat too much junk but she lets me eat sweets. She isn't stuffy like my mom is. Man, I am so hungry I could eat a whole zebra!"

After a dinner which consisted of a turkey brisket, biscuits, and crème brulee', Shere Khan and Simba walked along the avenue. Simba marveled at the displays. Bookstores promoted the latest installment of the hottest young adult series, pop up books, and superhero comics. Shere Khan could not understand Simba's obsession with such droll material but if it got the boy to practice his vocabulary, then it should be encouraged.

Hey, there is that girl that works for my mom! She helps run that book store!"

Simba pointed to a young woman at the corner store book shop. She was in her early twenties, had dark hair and pale skin. The 'Tales and Scrolls' book shop was one of the last few bastions where bibliophiles could hold a book in their hand and get it at a bargain price. There was something special about holding the pages in between your fingers; the feel of parchment across the tips and the smell of ink and paper was a quaint but archaic hobby. The book store also had that village-like set up that made it welcoming to visitors. It was a second hand store that also specialized in material with 'Far off places, daring sword fights, magic spells and a prince in disguise!'

"Can we go over and say hello? I wanna know if she has the new Deadpool or Iron Man comic."

"I don't believe she specializes in such kitsch, Simba."

"Oh. But why would it be? Everyone likes superheroes. They help people. Isn't that what you do, sometimes? Like, you give people jobs and help feed them through your charity."

"I prefer to be altruistic in my own way. One does not need a cape and spandex to make an impact." Shere Khan sighed.

"Oh," Simba looked down.

"But I suppose you may have a small chat if you are familiar with the girl." Shere Khan said warmly. He allowed this indulgence so that Simba would remember it in the future.

Simba ran. He was so excited but he made sure to mind his manners.

Simba had overheard Nala and Marie talking about the girl at the store. They also talked about the others her age. To Nala and Marie, they were their idols. They kept talking about things like fancy weddings and other fairy tale like things. Simba did not understand girls and their obsession with this princess idea. They seemed very keen on one detail: the love's first kiss. He thought it was gross that girls who went to high school and college did that. He just did not understand what the big deal was. It was weird enough that girls his age were fixated on that. He did, however catch his uncle and aunt in one such kiss before being quickly shushed out. He would never forget seeing his uncle Shere Khan getting really into it with his aunt Scar at one point. From what he understood, the 'princess' had to wait for her prince charming to give her a kiss to 'wake her up' and from what he remember, aunt Scar was very much wide awake. Simba asked if this was the ritual that they were doing. Shere Khan was grateful that Simba's overactive imagination and fantasies saved him from a very embarrassing explanation.

"Um, hi. Aren't you the girl that works with my mom? You are the one who is always donating books for her library programs?"

"Why, yes! Hello Simba!" The girl smiled.

"How'd you know my name?"

"Everyone does. You were the talk of the town when you were born." Belle smiled.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. A lot of people say that. It feels weird when everyone knows your name but you don't know theirs."

"I am sure it does."

"You're…you're Belle. I remember seeing your name on some of those donation lists. Mom is always happy. She thinks it's great how you take your time to promote literacy for underprivileged kids."

"Well, I am certainly glad to hear that. What can I help you with?" She opened the door for him.

The book store was like a treasure trove for book lovers. There was something for everyone.

"I was wondering if you had any superhero stuff."

"I am afraid not, but I know of a few specialty stores that might have what you are looking for. Who are your favorites?"

"Oh, you know, Deadpool, Thor, The Fantastic Four, Spidey…."

"And why do you like them?" Belle asked attentively. She had an interest in the superhero genre but her tastes were more specific when it came to sequential art. Because of her gender and her interest in this hobby, kids never hesitated to call her names. She was a beautiful but 'funny' girl because of this hobby.

Simba on the other hand was surprised. Hardly anyone over the age of fourteen tolerated his interest.

"I like them because they have very cool superpowers and they are always finding ways to get out of trouble."

"Oh, that's very nice. Have you heard of 'Fables' or the 'Grimm Fairy Tales'? Those are little too mature for you but when you get a little older, I highly recommend them."

"Wow. So like, you're a girl who reads comics?"

"I am not allowed to?"

"No, no, I didn't say that."

Simba blushed. His mother had warned him about putting his foot in his mouth.

Belle smiled. She knew that Simba was not ignorant due to malice. He was still a little boy who was growing accustomed to the world around him. She could not fault him for living in a bubble and he did make the effort to be friend with others outside his class. She could not fault him for that.

"It is okay, Simba." Belle said in an assuring tone. She offered Simba some treats from a tray. They were peppermint flavored cake pops. They were his favorite seasonal treat.

"It's just weird seeing a girl who likes comics. A lot of them I know think they are dumb."

"If they are looking at the wrong material, they might get that idea." She didn't want to really mention the gratuitous depiction of women in some of the issues she had seen. She looked for strong and positive interpretations of female characters and there were plenty in the superhero genre but she felt it wasn't in her place to lecture children, especially boys if they naturally gravitated to male characters any more than girls who did the same.

"They are not. It's just not everyone's taste. Some adventures last longer than others and some people lose patience. Other times, universes clash and everything becomes a clean slate. Other times, the material just isn't good." Belle stated simply.

"Well, what's the wrong kind of material and what is the right kind?" Simba asked.

"Well, it's like the difference between chicken soup and candy. One is nutritious and the other isn't. Literacy is like that but I am not here to turn lecture anyone. As long as you are reading text and not texting, I have done my job." Belle was pretty but Simba felt she was 'weird'. He dared not vocalize this observation for his mother taught him the golden rule about saying not so nice things.

"You wanna know who my favorite hero is?" Belle asked.

"Ooooh, who?" Simba asked in a hushed tone.

"My father." Belle stated simply.

"Really?"

Belle nodded.

"But, but….he doesn't…."

"He doesn't wear a mask but he has a good heart. When I went missing, he did everything he could to make sure I was safe. They made fun of him at the tavern. They called him old and crazy."

"What did he do? How did he find you?"

"He stuck to his beliefs. Anything you probably heard was greatly exaggerated but that is a tale for another time." She felt that Simba was not quite ready for the complex and sordid story of how she met her current boyfriend, Adam.

"Oh. Well in that case, I have another hero I admire. My dad." Simba said proudly.

"He is very admirable and very proud of you."

"Everyone says that. Like, I know he does a lot of good things. I have seen him volunteer at the children's hospital and I helped him distribute Christmas gifts to the kids. He showed me that it is important to help those who are less fortunate."

"That is a very important lesson." Belle observed.

"Yeah, I even read to the kids. It felt really good, actually. My aunt doesn't agree but I think it's because she would rather spend the money on new shoes or perfume than toys for sick kids."

"Oh," Belle nodded.

"Dad says that that is not good because that is greedy. I think he is right but sometimes…..it gets hard."

"Why do you say that, Simba?" Belle listened attentively. Simba may have been privileged and it intrigued her to see that he had his own opinions, however basic they may be.

"Well, my uncle is kind of like my dad but…he's told me a few things." Simba said as he wandered the aisles with Belle by his side, nonchalantly ranting his most personal thoughts to someone he knew he could trust. "Well, I know greed is bad but it gets confusing sometimes. Like, my dad believes that everyone should work hard but then my uncle and sometimes my aunt say stuff about how only those who are willing and able should get more. Like, charity is good but not all the time because some people might rip you off. Rafiki said something about work ethic too. They all get snooty about people on welfare. I noticed that too but they think I don't know."

Belle was surprised to hear Simba make these observations. He may have been a little boy but children nowadays were very sophisticated and even if they did not appear that they knew, they were well aware of what they saw and heard.

"Simba, who is your uncle? I don't recall either your father or mother's sisters getting married?"

"I am afraid we will have to cut this visit short. There are more pertinent matters, I am afraid, my dear."

Belle's eyes widened. The deep and booming voice came at her like a roar. It was like a dangerous predator had entered the midst. Her heart raced. She recognized the voice. The outline did little to quell the fear in her mind. The man slinked down the doorway and into her store, like a jungle cat. She held Simba close.

"Oh, sorry uncle Khan!" Belle's eyes widened. Uncle? Had that monster wrapped him around his finger?

The man had a powerful build. He was approaching middle age but he was still in his physical prime. It was clear that he took care of himself. A steady diet of green tea, yoga, and a traveled education ensured Shere Khan that no one would perceive him as weak. Controlling perception was one part of power. Illusion created a psychological reaction. His walk and his refined way of speaking and the way he carried himself, it was impossible for anyone to not give the man some semblance of respect, even if they did not grant him that feeling in private. Even when he used his cane for his weak leg, it did little to undermine the fear that others had for him.

"You have certainly whipped this dwelling into shape." Khan said with a deep smile.

"Thank you," Belle stated simply, trying to contain her composure. She didn't want to be disrespectful but she was a bit scared of Shere Khan as were most of her colleagues. One of the girls had mentioned over lunch at how he made a comment that was classy but had an air of being dirty at the same time. It was at the Spring Ball. It was a refined back handed compliment. Jasmine was embarrassed.

"Do you have anything on Rembrandt or Rousseau?"

"We have an art section but I haven't seen anything for either of them." Truth be told, Belle did not wish to look in the backroom. "Items like that are sometimes out of our price range."

"What a pity. Would a donation cover any expenses in a search, perchance?" Shere Khan pulled out a checkbook.

"That won't be necessary." Belle gulped. "I don't wish to give you any trouble and it could be months before we receive anything like that."

She wanted him out of here.

"I do enjoy a good hunt of rare items. Should you see anything of the sort, you will inform me. Understand?" Shere Khan touched the tip of her chin. She gulped nervously. Her neck was slim like that of an antelope. Her eyes widened in fear. Shere Khan could feel her heart race. It was something that aroused the primal senses in him. He was a hunter.

"I won't promise anything. It would be best if you kept your money."

"Consider it a donation."

Khan scribbled an amount on the check and placed in in the coffee mug next to the register.

"Your dry wall is peeling and it appears that some of the stacks are dilapidated."

"It adds to the mood. The customers like the quaint country village look." Belle replied more firmly, taking a stance now that there had been some distance between her and Khan.

"Very well, but should that bust of Hypatia land on one of your patrons, consider my gift insurance or aid in legal expenses." He gave a slight bow. Belle huffed.

"Why was she mad? What you did back there was a good thing, right?"

"Power intimidates those who lack it, dear boy." Khan said nonchalantly.

"But why? You were polite. You have nice stuff. I didn't see why she should have been scared."

"It is not something that can be measured, son. One day you will find that it is not talent or strength that garners respect. It is wits and power. As future king of your father's company, you need to master these skills."

Simba looked ahead. There was a small mom and pop shop. He recognized the boy at the front. It was a schoolmate.

"Can we make one last visit? I promise."

Pinocchio helped his father run the family business. For a few hours after school and on some weekends, he helped out in the store selling candy, treats, and toys to customers. Everyone loved Pinocchio's father because of his talent as a woodcarver. But that did not pay the bills. Geppetto made a living selling trinkets and rare items. He was also gifted at creating customized puppets. For a fee, he would personally handcraft a doll into the liking of what the customer wanted. His layaway plan was fair but generous. Sadly, the store had fallen on hard times. Thieves had made off with a customized puppet without paying the full price, patrons were becoming rarer and rarer for the market for collectible carousels, and vintage Dutch dolls was not as strong as it once was. Nonetheless, Gepetto had faith and the love from his children. Though they were not biologically his, the children loved him as their own father. The two smaller children, Figaro and Cleo helped out with cleaning and dusting.

"Hey!" Pinocchio said cheerfully.

"Hey!" Simba beamed.

"What are you doing here?" Pinocchio asked, holding a box full of figurines.

"Just visiting the Patch with someone. Just thought I would drop by and say 'What up?'"

"Are you ready for the game against the other school? I have been practicing but only a little bit." The boy with the wooden leg said.

"Nah, not yet. Been busy with stuff. You know, homework, Sunday school, preparing to run a kingdom." Simba said gleefully.

"That sounds like an awesome deal! I wish I could have that! You got a whole business to yourself and you don't have to worry about next month's rent!"

"Ah, it's okay, I suppose. So much responsibility but dad says it's important. You can't be lazy."

"You got that right. Some Saturdays, I get up at three AM just to help dad prepare for the day!"

"Pinocchio, what did I say about exaggerating?" A voice said from behind the counter. "Oh, it is you, Simba! What a pleasant surprise!"

"Hello, Mr. Geppetto, how are you?"

"I am doing very well, my boy. How is your mama? Papa?" The old man smiled. His eyes were tired and weathered but for a few seconds, there was a shine.

"They are good. By the way, they wanted to say thank you for the effort you put in the toy drive. Dad said he will make sure you are compensated."

"Oh, anytime, my dear boy and that is good news! As you can see, I am struggling keeping this place in top shape. I don't know what I would do without my children!"

Geppetto appeared from behind the counter and looked at Pinocchio.

"Get our guest some of those Belgian chocolate cookies!"

"I'm on it, pop!"

"You have grown so much! You have your mother's eyes."

"Awww, everyone says that."

"How are your studies? Pinocchio tells me that you did very well in science!"

"Yeah, I sure did!" Simba said proudly.

"Poor, Pinocchio struggles. Do you think you can help him out?"

"I have a tutor who helps me out. Maybe I can ask my mom or dad if they can help."

Truth be told, they had small study groups in the school library and while some of the other boys tried to understand the difference between an igneous and metamorphic rock, Pinocchio liked to talk. A lot. Simba did too but he also put in some effort. To be fair, Simba had the privilege of a private tutor to help him out. Pinocchio did not have that advantage and he had to work. It was not fair to compare. He did not mention this because he did not want to get his friend in trouble.

Pinocchio was prone to exaggerating but he was a great friend.

Besides, he owed Pinocchio for 'covering' for him in class once. A little lie never hurt anyone, right?

"Are you going to see Arctic Rose at the theater in a bit?"

"Um, I doubt it. I gotta go soon." Simba replied.

"Who do you think is cuter, Anna or Elsa?" Pinocchio asked.

"Uh, I dunno. Depends."

"I think Elsa is a better singer but Anna would make a better wife."

"I think she is kinda ditzy."

Simba had wanted to tell Pinocchio about this new rock group that he had discovered. He still liked some pop music but his tastes were becoming more 'refined', as his uncle would say. This new group, Robin Hood and the Merry Men wore masks and costumes to hide their identity. Simba thought that this was neat and he thought that the lead singer's 'costume', which was like that of a fox, was really cool. They sang about progressive issues. At first, they were dismissed for looking gimmicky but it was their music that garnered them popularity and respect. Their first album, "Troubadour", sold like hotcakes. Simba played it nonstop on his music device, much to his aunt's chagrin. Music magazines like NuWaves and Siren called the band 'a perfect blend of folk and blues'. They were described as possessing the 'gimmicks of KISS and the New York Dolls, the philosophical, mythical feel of Led Zeppelin and the dirty grunge sound of Nirvana and the Seattle scene.'

"Would you like some cocoa, dear boy? It is awfully cold out there." Geppetto said warmly.

"It's okay. Thank you, though. We just ate."

"We?"

"Yeah, uncle Khan and I came here because he promised to bring me here."

"Oh, that, that's very nice of him," the old man said with a tone of nervousness in his voice.

Simba noticed how the man tensed in his chair.

"Pinocchio, do you know where the Belgian cookies are?"

"I got 'em, pop!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Are you sure you did not get the mint chocolate ones?"

"Um….lemme check!"

Geppetto sighed.

"That boy. Excuse me, Simba."

Simba waved to Figaro and Cleo.

"Hey, I have something for you guys!"

Figaro and Cleo came closer. Simba had placed two small bags in each of their hands. Neither of them spoke. Figaro was couldn't talk and Cleo was naturally shy. They were very small.

Their smiles brightened. Simba had given them two small bags of Turkish delight. Geppetto was strict about letting them have sweets. Simba had been given a generous amount of rare candies from family and friends. He decided to part with some of his share. It didn't put new clothes on their backs but it gave Simba a small sense of pleasure knowing that he had given two poor children a taste of one of life's simplest pleasures.

"Ya like it?"

The children nodded gleefully.

"I got something for Pinok, but you gotta keep it a secret, okay?"

Figaro and Cleo nodded. Simba was about to show them the small gift he was going to give Pinocchio before he was interrupted. They were tickets.

"Have you finished, son?"

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry!" Simba said with a surprised tone. Figaro and Cleo's eyes widened. Figaro pulled his sister closer.

"Children. Is your father home?" Figaro and Cleo nodded. Simba wondered why everyone was scared of the man who indulged and spoiled him.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, my dear boy! That Pinnocchio can be very forgetful-! Oh!" Geppetto said tensely. "Hello."

"You have done wonderfully for yourself, Geppetto."

"It feeds the children." The old man replied promptly.

"So, I see but it seems to me that your son is looking rather pale in color. Has he eaten lately?" Khan said grimly.

"The doctor said that chicken soup and some sleep will fix it." The woodcarver replied sharply, standing his ground.

"What a pity. You could be so much more. Do not forget that I am briefed on the financial times every morning. The market for third world trinkets is not a strong one."

"There is no money in being in artisan but there is love and family." Geppetto said firmly, hugging his children close. Figaro and Cleo clung to their father.

"There is no need to be defensive, old man. I am making you an offer." He held up a ballerina. He wound her up. A soft melody began to play as she twirled.

"It will not be necessary, thank you. We have lenders and I do not wish to be a burden on you." Truth be told, the last thing Geppetto wanted was to owe Shere Khan anything be it loyalty or money.

"I have gardens in my buildings down town. I can make an arrangement for pick up. Your pay will be twice as much. Your children will have the option of tutors or being driven to any school of your choice."

The offer was tempting. Shere Khan was not one for jesting and even Geppetto saw that the offer would help him but it was a short term answer to a long term problem. Geppetto enjoyed the freedom of creating. He was lucky that business would pick up at the most opportune times and the family trade would be good for a few months before they would be scraping by. They were down to the last few thousand dollars. He went to the flea markets to find rare items more frequently. This job offer would help him but it would be at the cost of his freedom. And his children's.

"Your offer is certainly most generous but I am afraid I will have to decline, Mr. Khan. I am in debt to some lenders and I do not wish to give you that burden," the craftsman said nervously. Things had gotten so bad that he took out extra loans.

"Very well, consider this a donation."

"Please, that is not necessary," Geppetto pleaded when in reality he wanted to tear up the check and push the intruder out the door.

"The least you can do is your daughter a lovely little dress." The comment tugged on Geppetto's heartstrings. He did not want to be accused of being negligent. He did not want to take Khan's offer because it would mean being separated from his children. He provided for them just enough and he did not want them growing up privileged and spoiled. He wanted them to understand the value of a dollar and hard work. He himself was a business man. The difference between him and Shere Khan was that he was not ruthless in his business dealings. Self-respect and dignity were more important than a suit and a fancy office. Shere Khan also had more resources because he was Machiavellian and Geppetto could not do that.

This is why Geppetto cared for Simba because the boy was taken care of but was still generous and kind. He did not want his children to think that they could depend on hand outs and that they themselves could rise above and make something for themselves when they got older.

"Okay, pop. I got the cookies and drinks like you asked-oh! Hello Mr. Khan!" Pinocchio said warmly.

"Son. How are you?"

"Oh, I am doing great! Hey, Simba, we got cookies and some chocolate. You want some?"

"Pinocchio, aren't you forgetting something?" Geppetto pressed on.

"Oh? Oh, yeah. I wanted to say thank you for the leg. It really helped!"

"I am very pleased to hear that. I had the best engineers craft it from special material just for you. You are one of Simba's friends and for that, you received it at a bargain price." Khan smiled.

"Oh, wow! Thank you so much. These really helped me when we played ball. I feel like a real boy!" Pinocchio said gleefully. Shere Khan nodded towards Geppetto. The old man had to acknowledge the fact that the boy's happiness was due to Shere Khan's help or rather, brilliant machinations. Geppetto was already in Khan's pocketbook. He did not want to go deeper. When it came to big and small businesses, Social Darwinism was thriving. The apex predators held influence. It was the law of the corporate jungle and in this very personal case, Geppetto was reminded that Shere Khan was the one pulling the strings.

"My pleasure. Come now, Simba. Let us leave this gentleman to his business."

"Okay, but can I-?"

"Simba," Khan said darkly. Simba gulped. Geppetto, Pinocchio, Figaro and Cleo looked on sadly. It was time to go.

"Okay," Simba sighed and they both walked out. Simba waved goodbye to his friend. He patted his pocket where he kept the gift he was going to give Pinocchio: tickets and backstage passes to see Pinocchio's favorite pop duo at the Enchanted Forest Theater.

"The old man seems very fond of you," Shere Khan noted.

"Yeah. He's really nice." Simba replied.

"How long has he known your father?"

"I don't know. I do know that he gave me a rocking horse. I still have it." Simba smiled. It was one of his favorite toys. Mufasa wanted to him to donate it if he thought he was too big but Simba refused to part with the toy. There was something special about it. For this, his father made him clean it every so often.

"How lovely."

"Yeah. I have known Pinok since we were in first grade. He's a really good story teller."

"I am not surprised. The young man can tell very tall tales. I would advise you to keep an eye on him, Simba. You certainly do not wish to have unsavory influences in your circle."

Simba's eyes widened. What was so bad about Pinocchio?

"What do you mean? Pinocchio's my friend."

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. You are sitting on a vast fortune and it would be very tragic for you to be swindled due to your good nature."

"Pinocchio's my bud. We are pals. We help each other out in class."

"Did he tell you about the incident at the Blue Fairy?"

"What?"

"He told his father about a class trip. It was only a ruse so that he would perform onstage. Poor Geppetto's blood pressure rose. As if he needed that."

Simba had vaguely heard about the incident. Pinocchio told him that he was tricked by two thieves that promised him help. It turned out that he was kidnapped but Pinocchio made it sound like an adventure. It sounded outrageous but he knew that Pinocchio wouldn't make up a lie to gain attention. Still, he learned his lesson about listening to strangers.

The two stepped into a limousine that waited for them.

He repeated what he had heard now to what he had originally, trying to make sense of the conflicting stories. It was another confusing detail that vexed him. He believed that Pinocchio made a dumb mistake but some made it sound like he committed a crime. The way that Belle and Mr. Geppetto looked at someone he cared about bothered him. He was not rude and he complimented them on keeping their stores clean, as clean as they could keep them. Still, it was like something about him really bothered them. His aunt said something about how the working class was envious of their fortune.

"That was the card that life drew for them," she would say.

Was it true? He never thought his best friend was jealous and that he would make up weird lies just to get close to him.

It was another thing that plagued his mind. His father talked about the circle of life and how everything had its place. He helped out the poor but he hated the type that relied on welfare to get their way. He compared them to lowly scavenging hyenas.

Simba touched the tickets in his pocket. He wanted to give them to his friend but he did not like these weird bad feelings in his mind.

It was the holidays. He wanted to enjoy his peppermint mocha. He wanted to think about how happy Pinocchio would look meeting his idols, Arctic Rose.

Simba decided to let it go.


End file.
